


Cooking Class

by PapayaTwilight



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Completely Consensual, Food Porn, Inspired by "Hannibal" (TV), Knife Play, M/M, Metaphor of cannibalism, mention of religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapayaTwilight/pseuds/PapayaTwilight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock taught John how to cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking Class

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Cooking Class](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/20757) by seekzeek. 



 

 

**_(Yummy, yummy - By Cainonly)_ **

 

It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon at 221B, with no domestics, or cases. John was preparing for dinner at the countertop, while Sherlock was sitting alongside mediating about his experiments with eyes half closed.

“Sherlock,” John said. “You’ve boasted yourself as a chef, yet I’ve never had a chance to witness that. Would you mind condescending yourself today to teach me how to cook?”

“You won’t want to know,” Sherlock drawled. “There is only one dish which I master, yet it doesn’t fit into your taste.”

“I promise you then, that it will be my all time favorite. Come here and show me what you have.” John said. “You’ve never let me down.”

“Sure, follow me.” Sherlock picked a sharpened knife and stood up to perform his demonstration.

He embraced John toward the mirror and stood behind the shorter man. Warm sunlight came through the window and sprayed onto every inch of John, while dividing Sherlock into half and half. His nasal bridge determined the territory of light and shadow. One of his eyes was bright, the other dark. He raised his arm with the blade in his hand, shining. John’s clothes were torn apart by the blade and his skin exposed in such a transparent manner, with the blood stream underneath almost observable.

Sherlock peeled all the clothing from John and scanned the other man from head to toe, as if he was giving his most precious and lovely foodstuff a painstaking appraisal. He was searching for the exquisite recipe in his mind palace. Cuisine is art, and simplicity is the ultimate secret leading toward gourmet.

The recipe was ready, time to start cooking. Sherlock tipped the knife onto John’s temple. His look was dark with sheer appreciation. Hunger was on his tongue, flavor was reflected from his soul, and his flame of lust was focused on John.

“I love your brain, simple and charming, belonging to me.” He said. “Therefore deserved to be treated delicately. I will chill and acidify your encephalon with ice-cold water and lemon juice until it is as hard as your gun barrel. After that, I will sauté it with the exact temperature that boils cocaine in the blood; the goldenness will even drive Apollo into envy. I will place it on the freshest bread, served with your favorite cream, sliced mushrooms, parsley, and capers. I will enlighten your taste buds by a glass of rich dry white wine, and reduce the afterward grease with a refreshing drink.”

“Amazing!” John said. “I’d love to be treated like that.”

Inspired by the encouragement, Sherlock’s blade excited a spark and slid all the way down against John’s skin. “Neck: my teeth loved that; your neck will lean backwards when subjected to the pleasure of being preyed and conquered. And I will use my molar teeth to tear your flesh apart, along with the blood in your artery, sweet and sinful like Satan’s ambrosia. Chest: the most delicious part and flexible to be served with all recipes. Ribs: grilled, perfect for outdoor activities even in foggy London; Lungs: cleaned, sir-fried, soft and chewy, rich in iron. Liver: my favorite part, boiled, served with fava beans and a big Amarone. Kidney: our source of ecstasy, better to be saved in formaldehyde as a memorable piece. “ The blade swirled from the side of body to the back. “Here comes the most savory part, sautéed, fried, grilled, whatever. Arms, thighs, legs: rich in muscles, stewed for soup.”

“Very good.” John said. “Except that you seemed to have missed the most important part.”

Sherlock smirked behind him with his blade against the most important part. ”Save the best for the last. I will treat it with utmost care. This is perhaps the most beautiful thing that I have owned.”

“I’m honored.” John said. “With all my heart and soul.”

“I will cut your chest open and stick the straw down into the pulsing deepness, to suck up every drop of the essence of your life.” Sherlock said. “And then I will refill it with my life and spirit, which will keep it alive and pulsing. I will then place it onto the flame I set up, along with myself, burned into ashes.”

John stared into Sherlock in the mirror, his eyes were shining under the sunlight and sparks were lighting up deep inside his pupils. The devil was indulging into the elegant taste and everlasting lust. Taste and smell, the two most primitive senses toward the core of soul, would lead to the instinctive and pure path of libido. Sherlock was smelling him, staring into his eyes with nose against his auricle. Inhale, exhale, heat and chill swept across his skin alternately. The nose of the taller man slid down along his ear, neck, clavicle and shoulder blade. The scent from each part of his body was being consumed greedily. John felt that he was escaping from his own body. The smell of phenol and cold light in medical laboratory, the sand and smoke in Afghanistan, the self containment which has been trialed through the years was finally cracking open, evaporating into swirls, and running out of the crack. This wave was then inhaled by the taller man, running through his nose, throat and respiratory tract, dissolved in pulmonary alveoli and melt in his blood. Sherlock’s nose slid along his spine and caressed his tailbone. Sherlock’s tongue tipped into the enclosed valley and teased the entrance of desire. The wetness and warmness seduced the entrance to open willingly, and went deep inside to leave a tender mark. The intestinal mucosa was recollected with countless memorable pieces of pleasure, and embraced the gentle invader in the warmest and tightest way.

John always complimented on how agile Sherlock’s tongue was. The beauty of his tongue lies on the fact that, it not only revealed the truth but only the truth, but also made John groaning happily from time to time.

Sherlock turned him around after having enjoyed each inch of his back. John could barely stand. His waist and legs gave away and he fell onto the mirror. The mirror cooled his back down, while the lips and tongue warmed him up. He was thus struggling in between heat and cold. Sherlock tipped his nose all the way along the blonde’s inner thigh until reached the hardening part. The organ smelled like cloud with wetness, as time went by, it started to drip. Sherlock used his tongue to catch the precious raindrop. The fog was saturated with musk. He tasted the level of fermentation with his tongue, which always worked according to his standard. The amount of pheromone was just appropriate. He moved on with elaborating the most delicious part of the foodstuff using the tip of his tongue, in small circles, followed by grilling the dripping tip with all his tongue. He looked up, while John was looking at him, shocked and debauched. Hi smiled and stretched his hand towards John’s rear end. At the same time he kept his mouth widely open to introduce his tonsil to his delicious dish. They greeted each other with a French kiss. And in response to the length of the greeting, John hummed out a simple and delicate psalm.

The psalm disappeared in the air, and Sherlock placed John onto the dining table. The food is ready to be served and there is only one step left. When the flame of lust burned out, and the flesh and blood turned into ashes, the holy sacrifice would then be ready.

The lamb was placed on the altar to initiate the process of sacrifice. The intercourse was nothing about reproduction, but only about connection. The horn of the elk pieced into the lamb like the body on the cross. The most adamant belief lied on the foundation of instinct. The instrument for torture dug deeper and deeper, according to the rhythm that was naturally born. John shifted his body to meet every thrust. He opened his arms to suffer the sin, and presented his body as the sacrifice. The clash of flesh and flesh sounded decadent, while all his pores were groaning for more. His limbs were suffering from a spasm; his soul was broken and completed again in redemption. The shame and hurt melted into love and lust, while the blood and flesh were shaken by the torture.

Sherlock withdrew, and warm liquid was ejaculated and covered John’s body in a mixture with his own body fluid.

“The best place in the world is where you are. Now that this place has been tainted by my desire, I will then be with you forever.” Sherlock kissed on John’s forehead. This motto would be inscribed on the top of the gate at Sherlock’s mind palace，as still as the eternity.

END

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written by seekzeek in Chinese and posted on 221D, and I have translated it into English. It was neither Beta’d nor Britpick’d.


End file.
